


Banana Pancakes

by apcwoc



Category: overwatch
Genre: Fluff I guess, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Lots of Music, M/M, Music, Mutual Pining, There's a plot in here somewhere, might add more eventually, not technically a lyric fic but is heavily based on a song, please read my story it'll get good eventually, slow burn but not really, they just don't know it yet, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apcwoc/pseuds/apcwoc
Summary: Hanzo wasn't sure what to expect when he followed slow guitar music to edge of Gibraltar, but it sure as hell wasn't a single, solitary cowboy.





	Banana Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I don't know how to write but I do anyway
> 
> also here's the song this dumb thing's inspired by;  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OkyrIRyrRdY

He felt the noise long before he heard it. Low chords hummed through the sweet Gibraltar air, thrumming in his chest, matching his beating pulse.  
Hanzo hasn't been in Overwatch long.  
He joined a few months back, after Genji had shown up on his own damn death date, and turned Hanzo's world upside down.  
Well not upside down exactly, more like upside down, inside out, regurgitated, and then thrown back up again. Hanzo was still upset, rage constantly boiling in the back of his throat, and in the short time since he's joined this strange, rag tag team of heroes, back water villains, and everything in between, has taken his anger out by being a recluse, avoiding his brother as much as humanly possible, and mapping out every nook and cranny in the Gibraltar base. The rooftops were his favorite; no one was ever there, which was perfect for his self proclaimed solitude. Hanzo, in his abundance of free time, had set up his own little rooftop training range consisting of straw stuffed dummies and discarded bull eyes, which is where he was when he finally registered the music.  
Each arrow thwacked into brittle wood in quick succession; one after the other. Hanzo's breath heaved in his chest and sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into his eyes, both from the self made exertion and from the anger about today's events.  
Genji came up to him today with some "brotherly" quips before quickly dissolving into some bullshit claims about forgiveness and inner peace. After that, Hanzo had stormed off and found himself on the roof, which is where he had been all day since. His muscles ached and the knot of flesh where bone met prosthetic pounded from standing on them all day, but god forbid Hanzo allow himself a break. He was about to draw another flurry of arrows before he finally realized that the pulse beating in his chest wasn't just his own. He paused, and waited.  
Keen ears soon picked up the soft drum of music. His brows knitted together, is some else here too?  
Hanzo was rather vexed, who would be up here so late at night? Who wormed their way into his space? Clutching Stormbow, he set off through the maze of rooftops, suddenly determined to find the mystery perpetrator. Metal and silicon feet tapped against flat concrete as he followed the babble of music to its source. The closer Hanzo got, the more details he started to pick out.  
Whoever it was, was strumming a guitar, slow and leisurely; they switched from chord to chord, twanging their way through the melody, as if there wasn't a care in the world. The beat was warm and infectious, making your foot tap along and lifting your cares away. Getting closer, Hanzo could hear someone crooning along to the music. Slow and low, they paired strangely well to the soft song.  
_Who the fuck?_

"... _ong is meant to keep you_  
Doin' what you're supposed to  
Wakin' up too early  
Maybe we could sleep in  
Make you banana pancakes  
Pretend like its the weekend now."

Hanzo finally trailed the mystery musician near one of the many radio towers, close to an exit that lead out onto a catwalk lining the expanse of the ocean. As he neared the edge of the roof, he hesitated, trying to guess who it was.

" _We could pretend it all the time_  
Can't you see that it's just rainin'  
There ain't no need to go outside."

It wasn't the resident, upbeat minstrel, Lucio. The voice too raspy, and the music too slow. The large German fellow maybe? No, Reinhardt was a tad too old and never this quiet.  
Hanzo racked his brain for any potential candidates, hand deftly cupping his chin and foot still tapping to the beat.  
And it struck him.

" _Just maybe_  
Laka ukulele, mama made a baby  
Really don't mind the practice  
Cause you're my little lady."

Leaning over the edge, Hanzo quickly confirmed his suspicion, but damn, it was still surprising.  
Sitting along the crosswalk, was the local cowboy McCree, highlighted in all his glory underneath the emergency light. His hat was angled forward, large, tattered brim hiding his face from Hanzo. But from what he could see from his current vantage point was gloved hands flicking across the guitar strings lazily, the strings singing as he switched from chord to chord. Hanzo could clearly hear McCree rumble along to the peaceful song, undisturbed.

" _Lady lady love me_  
Cause I love to lay here lazy  
We could close the curtains  
Pretend like there's no world outside  
We could pretend it all the time  
And can't you see that it's just rainin'  
There ain't no need to go outside."

Hanzo felt like he was intruding on something private, but as much as he hated it, was entranced by the song. He would have never guessed McCree could sing so well, nor play the guitar with same amount of mastery. From what glimpses he had caught of the cowboy, he was always bold and blunt, showing little care to the finer details of life. But watching McCree glide effortlessly through the notes, shredded Hanzo's previous idea of him. It left a bitter taste on Hanzo's tongue though, to think he would make such careless accusations.

" _Ain't no need ain't no need_  
Mmm, mmm, mmm  
Can't you see can't you see  
Rain all day and I don't mind."

Hanzo wanted to walk away, leave McCree to his music making, but the music making was just too good to walk away from.  
He wanted to stay angry, angry at the world for spitting in his face, angry at his brother for trying to pretend nothing had happened between them, angry at himself for, for everything.  
Anger had boiled and festered away in his gut ever since Genji had sought him out all those moths ago. It clawed at his throat, clutched his heart, dulled his feelings until he could feel nothing but anger. Not even his usual alcohol could wash away his resentment.  
He wanted to stay angry, but the music ebbed away at his rage, cooled the blood boiling in his veins. The tensions from today eased from his shoulders and for the first time in awhile, his face wasn't set in a permanent, downtrodden, scowl.  
McCree, oblivious to his moral dilemma, swung into the next verse of the song, hands gliding across the rusted fretboard.

" _But the telephone's singing ringing_  
It's too early don't pick it up  
We don't need to  
We got everything we need right here  
And everything we need is enough."

Hanzo sighed, coming to a short lived agreement. His feet felt glued to the floor anyways, so he'll just stay for a little while longer. Crouching low, he splayed Stormbow on the ground, and leaned into the music.  
McCree sung with a rustic grace; dipping and swaying to the melody, letting the notes guide his hands. His foot tapped against the concrete, keeping the beat steady and spinning another layer into the seemingly simple song. He wove his way through the rest of music with a sort of gentle finesse, and eventually ended with gradual note that strung out long after McCree's fingers fell from the neck of the guitar.  
The night fell silent, as that final note died in the darkness. McCree leaned his head back and wild locks pressed against the cool surface of the wall. Hanzo waited a beat, a hope that McCree would continue to play tugged at him, but he made no move to pluck at the strings again. As much as he hates to admit it, disappointment pooled in his chest, replacing the warmth that the music had supplied. Frowning, Hanzo resigned to leave, to return to his empty training ground, to his anger. Picking up his forgotten Stormbow, Hanzo attempted to slink away unnoticed.  
Attempted being the key word here.

"You know, if yer gonna stare at me from the rooftop like that, least you could do is come down an' say hi."  
  
Hanzo wheezed in surprised, hand flying to clutch at his chest.  
Caught.  
He returned the edge of the roof and peered down with caution. The guitar lay resting in its side, clearly set down with care, next to McCree who had folded his arms behind his head. His face was angled upwards, brown eyes barely visible underneath the battered brim of his hat.

"Evening'." He said, and tipped his hat politely, easy smile on his lips.  
Hanzo's nose scrunched up.

"What do you want?"

"Jus' wanna know why you were spying on me."

"I was not _spying_ on you."

"Mm, and Angela's cooking doesn't suck." Hanzo shuddered at the mere memory of her culinary disasters, but said nothing. McCree pulled a face.

"Fine, let's say you weren't spying on me. Least gimme a reason why you were cryptically wondering the rooftops in the dead of night."

"I was not spying on you," he affirmed,"I was minding my own business when some anachronistic hooligan started playing his awfully loud music late at night. Some people are trying to sleep, McCree." Hanzo snarked but  
McCree just chuckled.

"You know, if you wanted to listen, you coulda just asked. I wouldn't have mind." He shrugged, shoulders sagging loosely, and patted the ground next to him. Hanzo made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

"What part of an anachronistic hooligan do you not understand?"

McCree hummed, fuzzy lip jutting out slightly. "You see, after all these years of being a trouble makin' delinquent I've picked up the bad habit of not listening to good advice," he patted the ground again,"Won't kill you to join me, Hanzo." He grunted, and weighed his options.  
On one hand, he could probably get McCree to play some more music, which, despite his grousing, Hanzo enjoyed quite a bit.  
However, on the other hand, Hanzo could ruin his reputation as the stoic loner, and, god forbid, make a friend.  
And most likely die. That honestly had a very high probability with how reckless the cowboy could be.  
If Hanzo was a smarter man, he would have taken his chances and left with his dignity intact, but alas, he is not. Instead he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and climbed down the wall with Stormbow on his back.  
McCree just looked amused, lips curled enough to revel hard pressed dimples and crows feet.  
Hanzo grunted and joined him on the floor, folding his prosthetics underneath flesh and bone. His knees creaked in protest. He ignored his joints and instead turned to McCree.

"So, do tell me why you wanted me down here?" Hanzo asked.

"Figured you needed the company. Looked awfully lonely up on the roof." He jabs, playfully nudging Hanzo with the metal protrusion on his arm. Hanzo still wonders what its purpose is, decoration perhaps? He waves off his question and retorts with his own jab, refusing to be bested.

"Not as lonely as playing romantic music by yourself." He quipped.

"Hey! You leave my music outta this, it didn't do nothin' to you." McCree accused, but there was no heat behind his words. He didn't laugh, but an expression of amusement crossed Hanzo's features for a fleeting second. It passed quickly before it morphed into subtle bemusement.

"Why _were_ you playing music this late at night?"

"Mm," McCree hesitated, before saying, "Needed the practice. Don't know bout' you but I couldn't play all too much while on the run." McCree tried to shrug off the words, but there was a heavy weight behind them. Hanzo nodded solemnly, the understanding mutual. The pair lapsed into silence, the lighthearted conversation suddenly too real to bear. Hanzo stared into the sky instead.  
The sun had long since set. In its wake it had left behind a trail of inky darkness, spotted with bright stars. Out here, there was nothing to obstruct their beauty, so they shone bright and lazy; twinkling in the far off distance. He had gazed at this sky far too many times to count. Whether it was waiting for a contact or a kill, the sky was always the same. Ever blinking, and ever silent.  
The quiet was thick, heavy, and damn near suffocating. Compared to when it filled the warmth of pleasant strumming and the low murmur of singing, it bore down on Hanzo. So against his better judgement, he broke it.

"Could you play it again?"  
McCree wasn't startled, but he turned to face Hanzo with an incredulous look.

"What?"

He tried again. "Could you play it again? The song you were singing." He gestured loosely at the guitar.

"Thought you didn't like it? What happened to it being awfully loud music played by an anachronistic hooligan?"

"I changed my mind." He shrugged, in lieu of the obvious lie. McCree chuckled and shook his head, but picked up the guitar anyways. Adjusting it in his lap, he plucked at the strings, once, twice. Then, using the brunt of his fingers, he started to strum. He played just as gracefully and gently as he did the first time, dipping and swaying his way through the chorus and the melody, weaving finely tuned parts into a masterpiece. McCree rumbled along, his voice slow and sweet like honey. Hanzo listened intently, rocking back and forth to the music. His hand thumped against the meat of his thigh, following the beat of the song. When McCree strung out the final note, Hanzo was almost saddened that it had ended, and was certainly disappointed, but he didn't let it show. Instead he clapped politely and McCree tried to bow the best he could. But it was rather difficult to while he was sitting down with a guitar in his lap. He took it in stride, and Hanzo chuckled quietly. They fell into silence again, but this time it was light and airy, the carefree music still lingering. It didn't last long. This time, McCree broke the silence.

"How's that? Good enough for your high expectations?"

Hanzo hummed pleasantly,"I suppose it was adequate."

"Adequate?!" McCree parroted,"There is just no satisfying you Mr. Shimada."

"Mmm, suppose you play a few more songs. You may please me yet Mr. McCree." Hanzo was pushing it, but to hear more of McCree singing was just too tempting. Fortunately, he decided Hanzo was worth indulging. He beamed, dimples showing themselves once more.

"Hope you don't mind some Spanish then." He said with a wink, and started to strum once more, before breaking out into another song. Hanzo happily listened, feeling lighter then he had in months. There they sat, merrily playing their cares away, song after song after song, well into the night. Hanzo figured he would have left after the third song, then he reasoned that he would leave after the seventh, and he fooled himself into thinking he would leave after the twelfth, but he stayed. He stayed until McCree had packed up and left, he had a mission tomorrow, and he stayed even after McCree had gone, watching the door long after it had shut.  
His chest felt full. It wasn't the festering, smoldering anger that had been brewing earlier; it was something lighter, airy, but it felt delicate, like if he frowned the feeling would shatter and crumble. But for now he allowed himself a tender smile, it barely reached his eyes but it felt real, genuine, and that was all Hanzo could ask for.


End file.
